


Water's Edge

by pikachumaniac



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Q is a selkie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:39:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikachumaniac/pseuds/pikachumaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James and water have always had a difficult relationship; even putting aside the times he had nearly drowned (always an occupational hazard), there is and always will be Vesper. But he is able to forget that, forget even her, when he sees the selkie in the water. </p><p>In which James Bond has a mission, Raoul Silva possesses something that doesn’t belong to him, and Q was never supposed to exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The obligatory Q-is-a-selkie story, borne solely of the fact that I really, really like seals.
> 
> Daily update schedule, as the original is already up on my Tumblr and overall the story isn't changing. I'm just in the process of cleaning up typos (so many typos) and trying to flesh out the writing, in a desperate (but probably futile) attempt at making the story coherent. :3

There is a boy in the cage.

It is an unusual sight, made even more unusual by the way James immediately puts away his gun. He’s been in this business long enough to know not to let his guard down, especially when in enemy territory, and yet he finds himself saying, “Hold on. I’ll get you out of there.”

The boy is naked, although thankfully there doesn’t appear to be any signs of assault. His dark brown hair is a little long, and falls over eyes that seem to shift between blue and green and gold. They don’t seem human, those eyes, but James is supposed to be a realist and so he focuses on getting the cage open even as those unearthly eyes watch him.

Nothing is said as he works the locks, but that quickly changes once he lets the boy – man, really – out. Not that he gets a word of thanks or even a query as to who he is; instead, the young man has barely scrambled out of the cage before he is immediately demanding, “Where is my skin?”

“Your…” James isn’t able to finish that train of thought because it quickly occurs to him that this young man might have been in that cage for a reason, and that reason might be because he is _mad_. “… what?”

“My skin,” the young man repeats impatiently, looking like he wants to roll his eyes. “He took it. Where did it go?”

“He… you mean Silva?” He decides that for the sake of his sanity, he will address the words that don’t seem completely psychotic.

“I don’t know his name. Tall. Broad. White-gold hair. Utterly mad.”

That sounds like Silva to him, although he’s not quite sure this young man is one to talk about madness, given the questions being asked.

“I don’t know where he went,” he says slowly, as if talking to a wild animal. Not that there is anything… feral about the young man, but there is definitely something off about him. And James would know something about being “off”; he sees it staring back at him every time he looks in the mirror. But that is what makes him such an effective agent for his country though, as he quickly sets aside his doubts to continue, “I am looking for him, if you have any idea where he is.”

“If I knew where he is, I wouldn’t be asking you where my skin is, now would I?” is the irate response. “You lot never listen. For a species so determined to assert your superiority over this world, you can certainly be quite dense.”

“… species?” he asks despite himself. Now he really is convinced that the man is insane, even if it’s a different kind of madness than what he is used to.

“Humans,” the young man elaborates unhelpfully. He stretches out pale, lithe limbs without any apparent concern at his complete lack of clothing, complaining, “How do you manage this two legs business? It’s like walking on sticks. It’s a wonder your lot didn’t get eaten before you learned how to run and kill. And you are very good at killing, aren’t you?”

He nearly flinches at how closely that little barb hits, even though the comment doesn’t actually seem to be directed at him specifically, considering the young man’s continued ramble (rant). James wonders if he should just put the poor thing out of his misery, or if he should just point him to the nearest mental health facility. But he doesn’t have time for such sympathies; he has a job to do, a mission to complete, and a psychopath to follow and end permanently.

Unfortunately, as of now, this man is the best lead he has (although not much of one), and he asks, “What did Silva want with you? When did he leave? Why didn’t he take you with him or kill you? What was he planning on-”

The man interrupts mid-sentence, blinking owlishly at James. “Rude.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who has rendered him speechless so many times in so short a period. This is not a compliment. “Pardon?”

“ _Rude._ You’re all so rude. Taking my skin, putting me in a cage, _interrupting me_.” The emphasis he puts on that last one makes James thinks that some priorities need to be put in order, and for once, it’s not his. “No wonder the elders always said to stay away from the human world. You really are just a hoard of barbarians, aren’t you?”

James frowns, not sure if he should be trying to make any sense of the young man’s babbling but compelled to do so nevertheless. Perhaps the young man is part of some indigenous tribe that has not had contact with the modern world, but his English is impeccable and his fearlessness makes it seem unlikely. He knows it doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t be indulging the man when there is no time for these games, not when Silva is on the loose.

Except there is, in the back of his mind, that inescapable feeling that there is something not quite _right_ about this person. Not dangerous, but… not exactly human. It makes no sense but James is not in the habit of ignoring his instincts, and that is why he finally asks, “What are you, exactly?”

The young man tilts his head slightly. Thankfully he’s stopped his ranting, and he looks almost… curious. “You don’t already know?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I did.”

“Hmm.” There’s an underlying skepticism, but again it doesn’t seem to be directed at him specifically. The young man bites his lip, obviously trying to decide what to do, before he shakes his head in apparent resignation. “You seem to be sincere, at least compared to him. In that case... well, your kind has given us many names over the centuries. But the most recent one, I presume as that is the one he used, is selkie.”


	2. Chapter 2

James stares. He’s heard the legends before, of course; selkies were a staple of Scottish childhoods. The cold ocean and the fog were a veritable breeding ground for such legends, but that was all they were: legends. Even when he was a child he never once considered the possibility of truth in such tales. They were stories, nothing more.

And yet.

“This is a poor time to joke,” he finally says flatly.

“Why would I joke about something like that?” the selkie asks, indignant. It says something about his sanity, that he accepts the possibility so quickly, but it explains _so much_. The behavior, the words, and especially those ethereal eyes that are now a sharp green. “I’m not the one who put someone in a cage because he was _different._ ”

 _Different_ seems to be a bit of an understatement, but he decides not to point that out. He doesn’t need the creature to go on another diatribe. “You want me to believe that you can change between seal and human form?”

“Well, I cannot right now, can I?” is the exasperated response. “He took my skin. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you at all.”

“But you don’t have your skin,” he points out, trying to maintain his composure at being lectured by something that shouldn’t exist. “Silva does.”

“Yes, and that’s why I have to go find him.”

The words are so matter-of-fact that James is convinced that this creature has absolutely no idea what he is proposing. “You think that it would be so easy? I’ve been searching for Silva for months, and this is the first time I’ve even come close. How do you expect to do it?”

“What other choice do I have? He took something of mine, and I want it back,” the selkie replies. He doesn’t look very happy about it either. “I _have_ to have it back.”

There’s an undercurrent of sadness in those words, and James suddenly wonders how it must feel, to be separated from one’s home like that. To be forced into this world, which even on a good day James would easily concede is not always worth living in. To be surrounded by humans who would – who _had_ – put him in a cage if they knew what he was.

Perhaps that is why he does it. Sure, he can tell himself that at least this creature has seen Silva before, and considering how he’s felt like he’s been chasing a ghost for these last three months, someone with knowledge of the terrorist’s appearance would be useful indeed. But that usefulness has to be balanced by the fact that he would be bringing a mythical creature – one with no combat training, no survival instincts, hell, no experience interacting with _people_ – with him on a mission that could easily take three more months. It’s suicide, he knows it, and not just for the selkie. For him as well.

But James has long ago accepted that he will be dying in the name of Queen and country, and longer still stopped caring about when and how it will happen. And that is why he finds himself saying, “If you help me find him, I’ll help you get your skin back.”

The selkie inspects him with a frown and eyes that are now a dark blue. It is easy to tell that he is not impressed with what is being offered, probably because they both know James cannot truly offer any guarantees of success. “No.”

“You need help,” he persists.

“I don’t need your help,” the selkie corrects stubbornly.

“You’re naked,” he points out. He gets a blank stare for his efforts.

“Clothes are not optional?” the creature asks, his voice finally a little tentative.

Sensing the shift in momentum, James tries to appeal to the selkie by being honest. “Look, I know you have no reason to trust me-”

“A vast understatement.”

He ignores that. “-but what other choice do you have? You help me find Silva, and I’ll help you find your skin. Isn’t that what you want?”

“And how do I know you won’t just cage me as well?” And in that question, he hears the fear that the selkie has been hiding through clever words. It is a fear he understands so very well.

“I’m not Silva,” he says bluntly, knowing that it is not much but it is all that he has to offer. “Just… just trust me on this, alright?”

The selkie blinks slowly. “Why should I trust you when you yourself don’t trust anyone?”

It is that moment where James is finally able to accept that the selkie is what he says he is. Because it’s easier to attribute the selkie’s words to the fact that he is a legendary, mystical creature rather than the possibility that James is so broken that even someone who has only spoken to him for five minutes recognizes it. But then, he came to terms with his lack of faith in humanity long ago, even as he risks his life to protect it. “Trust me to finish the job.”

(Because he will. Or die trying.)

The selkie tilts his head slightly, as if trying to get a better angle on James. There’s still blatant skepticism in his expression, but also that slight curiosity. “Q.”

“What?”

“My name,” the selkie says simply. “Or at least, what you can call me. My actual name is not… designed for a human tongue, so that will have to suffice.”

“Q,” he repeats, and Q nods slightly. “Alright. Shall we get started then?”


	3. Chapter 3

Their first order of business is getting off the tiny island Silva had holed himself in. As they wait for transport, James starts to question Q, only to find that despite the selkie’s impeccable English, there are still going to be some serious communication issues.

“Where exactly did you come from?” he asks, both out of curiosity and practicality. Knowing where Q comes from could be useful in determining Silva’s pattern of movement (or so he tells himself).

“The ocean. This is uncomfortable,” Q complains, tugging at the sleeve of the oversized shirt James had found for him. All of the previous inhabitants of the island were apparently twice Q’s size, which isn’t difficult considering how thin the selkie is. “I don’t know how you can stand this.”

“Which ocean?” he asks, ignoring both Q’s complaints and the pounding headache that is quickly starting to form. The two might be related.

The selkie rewards him with a depreciating look. “What do you mean ‘which ocean’? There’s only one.”

“The Pacific? The Atlantic? The-”

Q stares at him blankly. “What is the Atlantic?”

“A bloody big ocean.”

Both the joke and the frustration go completely over Q’s head. “There are no bloody oceans. You lot have caused a lot of problems, but I can assure you, there are no oceans made of blood.”

“ _Yet_ ,” he mutters to himself.

“I heard that.”

Things go from bad to worse when their transport finally arrives. The men MI6 sent, who admirably managed to make no comments about Q in his oversized clothing and with his unblinking stares, finally lose their self-control and exchange horrified looks when Q demands, “What is that?”

“It’s a helicopter,” James finally answers when he is forced to accept that the others will be of no use at all.

“A what?”

James is seriously starting to reconsider taking the selkie with him. “It’s a form of transport. We’ll use it to fly to the mainland, and from there we will work with intelligence to determine where to go next.”

He had been hoping that Q might overlook the part about flying, but he is quickly disappointed.

“No. No, no, no, no, _no_.” Q obviously thinks he is mad, which is probably true. “Birds fly. Humans do not. And more to the point, _I_ do not.”

“Then how did you get on this island in the first place?” he asks, frustrated and quickly losing his patience.

“A boat. A boat, something on the water, not in the air, most definitely not in the air, how can that even get in the air when it’s made of metal and is so heavy and…?” Q gestures at the plane, staring at James as if hoping that will get his point across. When James just stares back at him, Q drops his hands, shaking his head in apparent despair. “I am not getting on that thing.”

“Then how do you propose getting off this island? By swimming?” He immediately regrets the sarcastic question because it quickly becomes apparent that yes, Q would prefer that very much, and he quickly continues, “It’s safe. People fly all of the time now. It’s actually safer than taking a boat or swimming, and more to the point it’s _faster_. You want to find what Silva took from you, don’t you? The longer we delay, the farther he gets, and the less likely it is that we’ll find him.”

What goes unsaid is this: the longer this takes, the longer Q will be trapped here, his human form no protection from the realities of this world. The longer Q will feel vulnerable, in a form he is unfamiliar with and surrounded by people he cannot trust. Humans.

Q doesn’t belong here. It is so apparent that it does not need to be said; even putting aside his unfamiliarity with the basics of the modern world, he is too different. He may look human but there is something so unmistakably _not_ human about him that it’s no wonder people are fascinated by him without ever understanding why.

It’s no wonder James is so fascinated.

Fascinated, but still very, _very_ frustrated. Still, he tries to temper that exasperation, especially since he can see that Q is wavering. The selkie is obviously terrified by the idea of flying, but the alternative laid out by James is far worse. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Q.”

(It's not a promise. He knows better than to promise. He’s made promises before, and the results of those promises can be seen in the number of corpses he has left in his wake.)

Whatever it was, it is enough to finally get Q onto the helicopter. And here is another place where Q differs from humans: despite his complete (justified) distrust of humans, he has absolutely no sense of boundaries. As they take off, the selkie clings to James so tightly it’s hard even for him to breathe, although he is definitely not unaware of the sidelong glances they are getting.  He doesn’t care, letting Q hold on if that is what it will take to calm the selkie, and leans back into his seat to all of those terrible questions of just how the hell they are going to get through this.


	4. Chapter 4

James isn’t the only one with questions.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, Bond?”

He sighs. The call, while not unexpected, is the last thing he wants to deal with after handling Q, and he hasn’t even known the selkie for twenty-four hours. Their flight back to the mainland had been punctuated by no less than three panic attacks, including one where Q literally tried to _fling himself out_ of the helicopter while still holding onto James’s neck. It didn’t get much better once they landed; he still doesn’t know how he managed to get Q to the hotel without being arrested by the police, especially with the selkie still wrapped in his oversized clothing which made him look half his age (or at least what James thinks his age to be; who knows how old the creature really is). The hotel staff, trained as they are in the unusual, gave them horrified looks that made James certain he was going to have some explaining to do when the officers showed up, but instead he had only received a call from M.

In retrospect, the officers might have been preferable.

“Nice to hear from you, M.”

M is smart enough to ignore the sarcasm, although he can see her scowling at him from the other end of the line. “A civilian, Bond? What were you thinking?”

Obviously he hadn’t been. “He knows Silva. He knows what he looks like, as well as the people working for him, and-”

Even to himself the explanation sounds weak. He is not the only one as M cuts him off. “Then bring him to a sketch artist. Interrogate him. Get the information from him and send him on his way. You’re only endangering the both of you right now.”

James knows better than to bring up the selkie thing; even if M believed him (doubtful), it wouldn’t change her point because she’s right. He isn’t even sure what information Q has besides a few descriptions; the selkie has not been very forthcoming, unless berating the human race and James in particular counts for anything. But he had told Q he would get him back to the ocean, and he has a feeling that if he was to simply tell Q to stay put while he goes after Silva, he won’t be coming back to anything. Q is just stubborn enough to venture out on his own, and nothing good will come of that.

“Besides,” M continues, “has it not occurred to you that Silva left him there for a reason?”

Yes. Yes, of course it has occurred to him, especially since Silva had taken the time to take the skin but not Q himself. Why? Because he didn’t care about Q? If that was the case, Silva would have disposed of him, not left him in that cage. Because he knew that Q would have to come back to him eventually, if he wanted the skin back? More likely. If Q was a trap, unwilling or not, he could still cause a lot of harm. Q now knows too much about him, and should the selkie go after Silva and should Silva get hold of him… no, he could not let that happen, except the only other way of preventing that would be to cage the selkie. And even though he knows he owes the selkie nothing, he won’t be the one to do that. Again.

There are, however, more permanent solutions. James would be lying if he claimed he had not considered those things. Too many deaths and betrayals meant he did not have the luxury of doing otherwise. Logic and history said that what he was choosing to do was a terrible idea, except that his instincts told him he _is_ doing the right thing. And really, what has logic and history ever done for him? Just that trail of bodies.

M seems to sense that the conversation will go nowhere, and she is not one for wasting her time on a losing battle. That has always been her style; she will let him decide what he thinks is best, but she makes it clear that if (when) he falls, he will do it alone. In the meantime, she relays her instructions to him, reiterates the importance of taking Silva out, and disconnects.

* * *

When James finally rouses himself, he seeks out Q in the bedroom. The selkie is sitting on the bed, his thin fingers in the process of putting James’s gun back together. The pieces lay, clean and dangerous, scattered on the bedspread, and James isn’t sure if it’s horror or admiration that keeps him from saying something ridiculous like “ _You’ll shoot your eye out_ ” as he watches Q work. He has no idea how the selkie managed to do that without accidentally shooting himself, and as if reading his mind, Q says, “I watched him do this a few times. Silva. He was always lecturing his men about the importance of cleanliness, and your weapon was dirty. That’s no way to treat a delicate instrument.”

“What else did Silva do?” he asks, ignoring that last jibe. Q shrugs, returning his attention back to the pieces. There’s a tension in his posture, one that James hadn’t realized was there until he saw Q working on the gun, more relaxed holding a deadly weapon than when he deals with James. When it becomes clear that the selkie has no interest in answering, he sighs. “Q….”

“I hate this place,” Q interrupts, his voice quiet but the words loud and harsh. His eyes flicker between green and gold, the change frantic and agitated in a way the selkie is unable to show through movement. “This place, this form, this… _everything_. It’s so confusing. I don’t belong here, I don’t want to be here, it’s been too long. I just want to go back but I’m… I’m here, and I can’t do anything about it, and-”

James can see his hands shaking, and he has no doubts. This is not Q’s fault, and while that rarely means anything, James is determined that this will be one of those times. Even if the selkie is a trap, James does not care. Q is involved in this mess because of the petty battles between humans, and therefore James will do what he can to set things right. He will find Silva and Q’s skin, and he will get Q back to where he belongs. And in the meantime, he will keep Q safe, or as safe as the selkie can be given their circumstances.

But safety is not limited to keeping Q alive when on a manhunt for a dangerous psychopath, and they both know it. He has no idea how long Q has been trapped in this form, but it’s obvious that Q will lose himself if this continues on, and so James makes a decision. He’s not sure how much good it will do, but it’s better than nothing.

“I have an idea,” he says. “Come with me.”

He walks out, knowing that Q has no choice but to follow him wherever he may go.

* * *

As they make their way down to the hotel lobby, James watches Q. He can’t help but think about how much of a contradiction the creature is. Q should be more graceful, with his thin, elegant figure, but instead he walks like he’s one step away from falling flat on his face. Which to his credit, he probably is given that he is not used to having limbs, but watching the selkie shuffle awkwardly from place to place is distracting when it makes James wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

He doesn’t, since he doesn’t think it will be appreciated. Instead he tells Q to wait as he stops at reception, and pays them an exorbitant amount of money to do as he asks. The looks he gets suggests that she is seriously reconsidering calling the police, but whether it’s because of his charm or the money (almost certainly the money), she does as he asks, and it’s well worth it when they reach their destination.

It’s just the pool of the hotel, and probably feels like the size of a bathtub in comparison to the ocean Q has been torn away from. But Q hardly seems to notice, his face lighting up at the expanse of water before him. James doesn’t doubt that this is the first time Q has been allowed to swim, a suspicion that is confirmed when the oversized shirt is practically thrown in his face before James can even lock the door. Q has never made it a secret that he finds clothes to be irritating, so obviously confused by humanity’s determination to cover up, and he has no shame in his body even if he is so awkward in it.

But no one would ever make the mistake of thinking Q awkward as he slips into the pool. Nothing else in the world seems to matter as Q slides through the water with an effortless grace that makes up for any clumsiness he might display on land. But it goes beyond grace; there’s such freedom to the movement that the very sight of the selkie is hauntingly beautiful as James once again realizes how wrong it is that Q is trapped in this world.

He has no idea how long he stands there, barely able to breathe as he watches the selkie finally relax truly and completely in the water. James and water have always had a complicated relationship; even putting aside the times he had nearly drowned (always an occupational hazard), there is and always will be Vesper.

But he is able to forget that, forget even _her_ , when he sees Q in the water. He almost cannot make his way closer, as if afraid to break the spell, but finally he forces his way to the water’s edge. It doesn’t take long before Q resurfaces to meet him, propping his arms and head on the edge as he looks at James, happier than James has ever seen him.

“Better?” James asks, and he knows that Q is not the only one smiling.

“Better,” Q confirms.


	5. Chapter 5

James was right that the swim would allow Q to relax. He was also right that once Q was able to let down his guard, he would be more forthcoming with information.

It turns out that Silva had told Q quite a few things, things that Q might not necessarily understand but when put in the context that James knows from his time hunting Silva down, are very valuable indeed. He has a lot of time to put those pieces together, since the information only comes when the selkie is forced to come up for air.

And that is another reminder that Q is not quite human; Q stays under for increasingly long periods of time, and when the selkie stays under for close to twenty minutes it takes everything in James not to throw himself into the pool to pull him out. Because even now, after all of this time, all he can see is _her_ , and he can never let that happen again.

As if sensing his anxiety, Q starts coming up a little more often after that. Of course, it might just be the size of the pool that is forcing his hand, so James tries not to read too much into it. James has quite an ego, but the selkie has made it clear exactly where he considers humans to reside in the grand pyramid of life (only slightly above the flesh-eating bacteria).

He also tries not to stare too closely when Q comes by to talk to him about Silva, something that proves far more difficult when all he can see is the water rolling off the pale skin, which seems to almost glow under the dim lights. No, he tries very hard not to focus on that, instead asking his questions with his usual professional (uncaring) demeanor.

It gets harder as the conversation gets longer and less one-sided. Occasionally, Q will ask his own questions. The selkie is intelligent, and despite his unfamiliarity with the human world he is able to quickly pick up on the gaps and expand his knowledge of this strange place. It’s strange having things he takes for granted questioned so intently, and Q is more than happy to provide a running commentary on how odd and irritating and generally harmful human beings are. It makes James wonder exactly how long Q has been here, and almost without thinking he asks, “How did you end up here anyway?”

James immediately wonders if it is a mistake to ask, to remind Q of how he came to be trapped here. But instead of slipping away or getting angry, Q just sighs, sounding rather put out and almost a little embarrassed. “I wasn’t careful. I was alone so there was no one to warn me of their approach, and then some humans came upon me. They surprised me, and before I could get away-” he shrugs, “-they took my skin.”

“Silva?”

“No, not Silva. I never found out who they were.” Q bit his lip, darkening the skin even more. “I asked them to give it back. I even begged. I told them the skin was of no value to them, so what could they want with it? But they knew what I was, knew what it meant. So they just laughed and put me in a cage, and sold me to the highest bidder.”

James feels that dark, angry part of him rear its head, snarling for the blood of anyone who could do such a thing. Slavers were the worst of the worst, overlooking humanity for profit. It is a dark and ugly thought, but he hopes one day those men will be his next target.

(Except he knows that they almost certainly won’t. In all likelihood they were just ordinary people acting in the spur of the moment, not the kind to warrant MI6’s or a double-o agent’s attention. And that is the most terrifying thing about Q’s plight; the things even an ordinary person is capable of. Not that James was ever unaware of that, especially when he’s been in this game for so long.)

“And that was Silva,” he says, trying to distract himself from the blood lust. At Q’s sharp nod, he asks, “What did he want with you?”

Q shakes his head. “I don’t know. He just gave me a bigger cage, and he would come and talk. He showed me some things, human things. And sometimes he would just watch. He never _asked_ for anything… I do not know, maybe he just wanted some company.” Q sounds skeptical of that latter point, illustrated by the delicate shiver that runs through his body. James does not want to imagine what it was like, being at the mercy of the whims of a man like Silva. “I think, though, that he was just… collecting. Collecting things that were different.”

 _And lovely_ , his mind supplements unhelpfully. It is harder to ignore that one, especially when the selkie is right there. Q is truly exceptional, with his long, elegant limbs and expressive, ever-changing eyes, and pale skin that contrasted so beautifully with his dark curls. James is only grateful that Silva’s interest in Q did not go further than ‘collection,’ although it might only have been a matter of time.

He doesn’t voice that particular thought. If Q had not already considered that (and based on what James knows of the selkie, Q almost certainly has), he will not be the one to raise those ugly thoughts. Q has been through enough already, trapped in this form and dependent on a human he doesn’t trust. The last thing he will do is burden him with Silva’s darkness, although humanity’s darkness is an entirely different matter.

Q looks so small now, but James would never make the mistake of thinking him helpless. Surviving what he has gone through is a strength in and of itself, and James wants to tell him that. But he has a feeling that Q doesn’t need him to tell him something that is so patently obvious, and so instead he stands, his legs protesting after he had spent so long sitting at the edge of the pool. A quick check of the clock shows that hours have passed, although Q shows absolutely no signs of being waterlogged.

“We should head back,” he says, and quickly leaves to find a towel for the selkie to dry off.


	6. Chapter 6

Their next stop is Barcelona.

Luckily for everyone involved, they take the train. The ride is quiet, as Q is fascinated by the scenery going by at such speeds. James in turn is fascinated by Q, watching as the selkie fiddles slightly with the oversized glasses they had picked up during their various shopping expeditions. Each and every one of those trips had been an exercise in patience. At a certain point he became absolutely convinced that Q was deliberately choosing things that made him grimace, which would explain the mustard-colored cardigan and _plaid_ pants. James didn’t even know they _made_ plaid anymore.

The glasses were the only thing James was able to insist on. The selkie doesn’t need them, obviously, but his argument was that it would help disguise his looks. It might not fool anyone who looked at him for more than half a second, but it could be useful to help them blend into a crowd should they come across Silva’s men (or the man himself). Of course, the selkie had responded by picking a thick, plastic pair, which James might admit (under pain of death) was not entirely unattractive.

They check into the hotel, one with an indoor pool, before making their way onto the busy streets. Q is a surprisingly not picky eater, although he prefers his food raw to the point that it is only one step away from shimmying off his plate and back to wherever it came from.

For a while, they just sit there and watch the people going by. It isn’t often that James indulges in such quiet moments, unless one counts the time he’s waiting for a target to come by, and even less often is when he passes it with someone. He never lingers long with people, having learned the virtues of moving on quickly, and it takes him a while to realize that Q is speaking. “I never thanked you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for.” And it’s true. Not that James considers himself a representative of the human race, but considering all Q has been through, his actions don’t seem to be doing much except repairing the harm that has already occurred. And admittedly, he rather enjoys the selkie’s company. Q often says what James already feels, except when Q says it, it isn’t cynical and self-hating. Sometimes it’s irritation, sometimes it’s condescension, and sometimes it’s just a bemusement with humans and all of their petty problems. James has no idea why it makes him feel better, that someone can see what he sees but not feel so downtrodden by it.

“Will wonders never cease,” Q murmurs, a gentle smile playing on his lips. His eyes are a deep blue now, although James knows by now that the colors don’t correspond to his mood. There’s no predictability to their shifting patterns, except that they will change, and often. “You’re such a contradiction. Sometimes you are so arrogant, and other times you completely fail to appreciate exactly the kind of person you are.”

It doesn’t sound like an insult, but he isn’t sure what it is then. “And what kind of person is that?”

“Now, now, no fishing for compliments,” Q replies teasingly, and James knows better than to explain that he really does not understand what Q is saying. Considering the amount of blood on his hands, both from his country’s enemies and the people he was stupid enough to allow himself to become close to, he wonders if Q is simply that blind. Except he knows that the selkie isn’t. Q sees him better than almost anyone else ever has, and still that is the creature’s impression of him?

Q says nothing more after that, but the silence they lapse into is not uncomfortable. It is quiet and contemplative, and it lasts long after they return to the hotel and part ways, Q for the bedroom and James for the sofa. That night, James lies there unmoving, certain he can hear the soft breaths of the selkie from the bedroom.

* * *

The next morning, James leaves early, before Q has awoken. He knows that Q will not appreciate it, and can only hope that the selkie doesn’t do anything foolish like try to leave. It almost makes him want to lock the door to keep Q safe, but regardless of his motives, he knows that the selkie will see a locked door as one thing only, and he doesn’t want to irreparably damage the fragile understanding they have going.

He scours the streets, seeking those dark places that someone like Q simply does not belong in, and soon he finds his target. The descriptions Q had given him were odd but surprisingly accurate, as the things the selkie notices were not the normal things humans would. But as soon as he sees the man he knows that Q’s description was, in his unique way, absolutely perfect, and more than that he knows he is on the right track.

Unfortunately, his target also knows exactly who he is, and makes a run for it after taking a few pot shots at James’s head.

James is in hot pursuit when his earpiece crackles to life. But rather than being met with M’s clipped tones, he hears a now familiar voice say, “Oh, I see you. There you are.”

“Q?” His head jerks as he automatically scans the area, as if expecting the selkie to launch himself out of nowhere. “I know where I am, but where are you? You’re supposed to be at the hotel.”

“I am,” Q replies, completely unflappable. “I was going through your things when-”

“You were going through my things?!”

“Yes,” is the patient reply. “Do try to keep up, James. On your computer, there is a program that tracks your location. Or that is what I assume, at least. You wouldn’t happen to be near a… MegaMusicStore, now will you?”

It is his turn to reply “Yes,” although his is less composed and more shellshocked. Computers had never come up in their information exchanges, and he wonders exactly how much Silva had shown the selkie. Either more than the selkie had let on, or Q is an incredibly fast learner. He should be concerned about this, paranoia flaring up, but instead all he can think about is how much Q is being changed by this world, and whether it could ever be undone. “But this isn’t your problem, Q. Don’t-”

“I fail utterly to see how this is not my problem. I am a part of this too, after all.”

He doesn’t have time to argue about this, not when he is in the middle of a foot chase and his quarry is no longer quite in view. He grits his teeth, and decides if he is going to waste his breath talking he might as well use it to get some assistance rather than arguing with the stubborn creature. “Fine. I don’t suppose you see anyone I’m chasing?”

“No, because you’re the only one who has a tracker,” Q responds, although now with a sign of tetchiness. Good. James liked spreading the pain around when it came to this sort of thing. “What direction is he headed in?”

James relays what he knows, and Q hums as he presumably scours the maps. The directions he gives are steady and firm, and James can sense he is catching up when he reaches a dead end, forcing him to skid to a stop. “Q….”

He gets a soft laugh in return. “All of your skills, and you can’t climb walls, James? If you hurry, you’ll be able to intercept him.”

James can climb walls, and he does so admirably, but it doesn’t stop him from cursing certain know-it-all selkies, to which Q just laughs, harder and louder. It’s a glorious sound, one that James can listen to all day, and just as Q promises he arrives in time to punch Silva’s man in the throat. The ensuing fight is swift, ruthless, and decidedly one-sided, and soon James is standing over the fallen man. He is about to ask his questions when a paper catches his gaze, and he leans down to grab the piece from the inside pocket of the man’s jacket.

On it is the address of the hotel that they are staying at, and the number of the room that Q is currently occupying. He can feel his blood run cold.

He slams the man’s head into the ground with far more brutality than is required, even as he says as calmly as he can, “He’s headed in your direction, Q. Get out of there now.”

There is no response from the other end of the line, except the sound of a door slamming open.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time James reaches the hotel, he may or may not have stolen a motorcycle, may or may not have broken several traffic laws, may or may not have caused a few accidents, and may or may not have felt absolutely sick with dread and terror. The only thing he can hold onto (hope is almost the right word, if that sentiment hadn’t been beaten out of him already) is the likelihood that Silva doesn’t want Q dead, so the worst that can happen is that Q won’t be there when he arrives. The worst is that Silva would have taken Q, and the things human beings are capable of….

It is with no little force that James slams his way into the room through the window, to find four masked men and twice as many weapons drawn. But they are drawn in the opposite direction, and after a quick scan to make sure that Q isn’t there, he springs into action. He takes down one man before they can figure out what is happening, and has shot a second before they can turn to face him. The third is more of a struggle, but the fourth is on him before he can throw the corpse aside.

It’s hard to grapple when there’s so much blood, although he doesn’t know how much of it is his own or his victims’. He’s gone to that place, that dark place he doesn’t want Q to ever get to, where animalistic fury takes over to the point where he is acting more on adrenaline than with his own mind.

But there’s only so much adrenaline can do though because some of that blood is his, and he isn’t nearly as well-armed as his opponent. Not that weapons are needed when human fists can do so much damage, and soon he’s winded from a kick to the chest, sprawled on the ground with hands wrapped tightly around his neck. He snarls, trying to push off a man who seems twice as heavy as he is, when a shot rings out.

For a moment, there is silence as both victim and assailant try to determine which is which now, but eventually his attacker’s eyes widen in shock and horror and pain and ultimately, death.

The body goes limp, practically suffocating him with its weight, and he looks over to find Q standing over them, gun held steady. The selkie’s eyes are flat and a dark blue, absolutely devoid of mercy like the ocean the selkie wants so desperately to return to, and they soon focus on James.

He isn’t human. That is all too clear as the selkie stares down at him, and James has to wonder if the creature even recognizes him anymore. He isn’t about to find out though, and so he says, “Thanks.”

Q blinks. And in that single movement, the Q that he has come to know returns. But although the smile doesn’t quite reach the corners of his mouth, Q’s “You’re welcome” is warm, even if the hand that reaches down to help him up is cold as ice.

* * *

After James finishes ransacking the bodies for any possible clues as to Silva’s whereabouts, they leave the place behind, with James dropping his remaining cash as compensation for the hotel cleaning staff. Their next hotel is smaller and quite a bit seedier, but neither is in any mood to complain. Not that Q seems at all frazzled; he is bizarrely composed considering how he did just kill a man, but then that man was a human and Q has made clear his position on the value of a human being. James isn’t sure how much of a difference that should make, but it is apparently enough for Q.

Q helps him clean and stitch up the wounds he sustained during the battle. At several points Q looks like he wants to say something – probably a lecture, that’s what James usually gets in the aftermath of injury – but apparently thinks better of it, sighing softly as he hands over the medical supplies. The silence continues as James makes the necessary calls and in general attempts to make sense of the information they have now.

And when the selkie finally does speak, it is not to reprimand him for failing to take care of himself or ask about Silva. No, it is far worse.

“There was someone else.”

Never did James think he would be having this conversation. Not that this is directed towards Q in particular, but his past – and Vesper – is a topic he prefers to keep exactly where it belongs: the past. He takes care not to let it impact his work, to keep it hidden away. But maybe he should have known that Q, who sees him all too clearly, would have seen that as well.

James is a professional, and he is able to keep his dismay from showing up on his face as he shrugs, trying to appear dispassionate. He respects Q enough not to pretend he doesn’t know what Q is talking about (and in any case knows Q is too smart to fall for that anyway), and says, “There were lots of others.”

“No,” Q says, and there’s a hint of reproach at his transparent attempts at avoiding the topic. But mostly, there is a quiet sympathy that from most others would feel like pity, but is far from that now. “Not like her. What happened?”

He closes his eyes, and for a moment all he can see is pale skin and dark curls. “She betrayed me.” _To protect you._ “She died.” _To save you._ “What does it matter?” _Everything_.

“You love her.”

Love. Not loved. And it is true. James will never forget her, but that means he will also never forget what she did.

He opens his eyes, and finds himself looking at pale skin and dark curls, and a person who understands him all too well. “Why are you asking me these things?”

“The way you acted earlier,” Q replies. “It’s the way one acts when they’ve lost someone precious, and are afraid to lose someone again.”

The words are so matter-of-fact, as if Q doesn’t understand the weight of what he is saying. Maybe he doesn’t. On instinct, James wants to play it down, to make light of what the selkie is saying. But that would require a lie because he knows that somewhere along the line, Q has come to mean something more than duty to him. He has always had a weakness for people who can see the real him, who look beyond the swagger, and are brave enough to tell him the truth.

In the end, he doesn’t reply because he doesn’t know how to. And anyway, it doesn’t seem like Q is looking for a response. The selkie stands, and a hand rests on his shoulder. He almost wants to shiver, although he will forever claim it is because Q’s touch is ice cold and not because of all the implications he cannot face.

Q does not say anything. There is nothing to be said. So after a moment, Q walks away, leaving James with the memories of the woman he still loves, drowning before his eyes over and over and over again, and the sinking realization that it might not be the last time he loses someone to the water.


	8. Chapter 8

It isn’t too late.

He can still stop this. Most people, in his circumstances, would find a way to stop. But James Bond is not most people, and more importantly he has never been the practical sort, as demonstrated by his tendency to throw himself off of moving vehicles.

And so, he does not stop here. He does not stay seated, and he does not resist throwing himself closer towards that point of no return, towards heartbreak and loss and all of those things he swears over and over again not to pursue, yet finds himself enduring time and time again.

He goes after Q.

* * *

James finds the selkie in the bathtub, which is too small by far for a creature who is used to having an entire ocean to revel in. Q smiles weakly when he pushes open the door, and says, “It occurs to me that I may have been too forward. Your past is your own, and I had no right to pry. For that, I am truly sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he replies simply, sitting himself down on the tile floor. “You were right, after all.”

Q blinks at him, “About what?”

“All of it.” He doesn’t specify any more than that. “Have you ever loved anyone like that?”

“No,” Q answers easily, although the way he tries to return his attention back to the bath is very telling. “But our kind is not known for monogamy. We love only one thing, and that is the ocean. That is where we came from, and that is where we must always return to.”

“I see,” he says quietly. He doesn’t have to ask Q to elaborate much more on that either; the rejection is clear enough. The odder thing is that there is anything to reject. When they had met, he never would have thought that anything more was… possible between the two of them. He had always had an odd interest in the selkie (an interest that was sometimes tempered by exasperation, such as when Q started asking him very loudly in formal restaurants why utensils were mandatory), but that was because of what Q is, not _who_ he is. And now? Even now, what does he truly know about Q? That he is clever, that he is brave, that he understands James and accepts him for what he is, broken and dangerous and so cynical about the world he lives in. And yet in that short amount of time that their lives have crossed, Q has made that same world worth _being_ in.

But that does not mean Q belongs here, especially when the selkie has made it clear that he does not wish to be a part of this world. And he should not have to. James has no intention of making him stay, and that is why he should do the smart thing and let go now rather than later. The problem is that he knows that he has already fallen far harder than he should have. That is a bad habit of his, falling so deeply for those he cannot keep, but that just means he is better at acceptance when the inevitable occurs.

He moves to stand, saying quietly as he does so, “And you will return there, Q. I will make sure of that.”

Q sighs, closing his eyes. James take that as his sign to go, but before he can fully open the door, Q says, almost more to himself than to James, “That is the problem with this form, you see. The longer I am in it, the easier it is to lose myself to its wants and needs. I know I am meant to go back to the sea, I feel it with every breath I take. But when I am with you, I find that isn’t the only thing I wish to do.”

James has no idea how he is supposed to respond to that. He does not know if he wants to. But he finds himself returning to Q, who still has his eyes closed as if the selkie is not sure how to face him.

Slowly, as if in a dream and afraid of waking up, James slides down into the tub, settling under Q. It is far from comfortable and the water is ice cold, as is Q’s too pale skin, but none of that seems to matter as he tangles his hand in dark hair. His voice is hoarse as he dares to ask, “Do you trust me?”

(Because it isn’t love, that is difficult. Love can be so easy at times. But for an agent, and for a creature who is trapped here because of the actions of a human, _trust_ is the true test of a partnership.)

“Do you?” Q replies quietly, one hand reaching up to join his.

It is a fair question. Because as much as he loves her, she had also broken something in him. He had trusted her despite everything, and truly believed that he would have done anything for her. She actually would have done anything for him, and that was precisely the problem. Because it turned out “anything” included betraying Queen and country, because it turned out “anything” included dying right in front of his eyes, and because it turned out there were things worse than death as James now knows better than anyone that being left behind to mourn can destroy the will to live.

But he has long ago come to accept that Vesper is his past. She will always be a part of him, and he will never forget her. He does not want to forget her. But he has finally come to accept that he still has a present as well, not just moments to endure before the inevitable. Q is here now, not as a replacement, but as a continuation. Q is his present, and perhaps his future as well. James doesn’t usually bother to look that far ahead, since there’s no telling how long he will make it, but he does not think he would mind a future like this.

Q looks at him, steady and not judging, and those _eyes_. James can stare at them all day as they dance between colors, although his attention is slightly strained as slender fingers reach towards him to undo the buttons of his shirt. The fabric is gently brushed aside and Q presses his lips against the scarred skin. Like his hands, the kiss is so cold, but it warms quickly.

“Yes,” Q breathes softly into his chest, answering both their questions, and that is all the permission James needs.


	9. Chapter 9

James doesn’t know how long he lies there, staring at the selkie. He doesn’t know how many times he’s explored every inch of cold, pale skin, or how many times he’s kissed Q breathless. There are a lot of things that he does not know, and as he watches Q breathe in and out, he realizes that now might be the time for him to figure those things out.

There is, of course, a part of him that would be content not knowing, to treat this as he has so many others: temporary and fleeting, and not needing to know much else because there is no commitment. But like her, Q is too entwined with him to be let go of so easily, and he needs to know how fleeting it will be this time around. It won’t make it any easier when the time comes, but at least he’ll be ready.

Even with that goal in mind, it takes everything in him to untangle himself from Q’s sleeping form. He cannot resist pressing a kiss to Q’s neck before he rises, and although in sleep, the selkie tries subconsciously to follow him, before returning to undisturbed rest.

James grabs the laptop, not sure exactly of what he will find or where to even begin. In the time he has known Q, he hadn’t actually bothered to look up anything about selkies. Any stories he’d heard as a child had long been discarded as unnecessary, except necessity is something that has most certainly changed over the past few days. Still, until now there hadn’t seemed to be much point in researching those legendary creatures, seeing how selkies were not supposed to exist in the first place and the simple fact that Q has a bad habit of defying all expectations. But once he starts looking he can’t stop; there isn’t a lot out there, but there is one common thread to all of the stories: tragedy.

He isn’t sure how long he sits there, scrolling through stories and stories of separation and loss, of lovers forever estranged, and of humans forever broken by the sea, but he is completely unprepared for when Q glides up behind him. It’s almost lucky that he’s so stunned by the sheer misery of the legends because Q now moves almost too quietly, and a startled James Bond often ends up with somebody bleeding on the floor. Not that he would ever consciously try to hurt Q, but that has never stopped him before, not when he’s at the mercy of instincts that have become so well-honed by constant battle and death that they are difficult to control.

“You’re so cold,” Q scolds, wrapping his arms around James’s shoulders. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

The selkie is probably right. The windows are wide open and the night air is cool, and James has been sitting there for longer than he cares to remember. But considering how Q’s skin is usually at the temperature of ice, he doesn’t really think the selkie is one to talk. He’s always wondered about that, if that pale skin is so cold because of the separation from his fur. Although speaking of that….

“Legend has it that once you return to the sea, you can’t make contact with humans for seven years.” He asks the non-question casually, and doesn’t reveal that the source of his information is a Wikipedia article (not that Q would know what that is, but he doesn’t want the selkie to get distracted by questions), yet inside he feels as cold as the arms that are wrapped around him.

“Legend?” Q sounds somewhat bemused, but when James turns to look, there’s a faint worry in eyes that are now a dark gold. “Since when have you put any stock in legends, James?”

James raises an eyebrow. “Since I met you, of course.”

A soft laugh, smooth and quite unlike the barking of the seals he had encountered from his days in the Navy. “I suppose you have a point.”

He wants to lose himself in that laugh, but he can’t. Q is avoiding the issue. This concerns him because Q is so often blunt and straightforward, almost to the point of rudeness, that this behavior is setting off all sorts of alarms. James is careful not to show that concern, instead again asking (although more pointedly), “So it is true?”

“The seven years? No, of course not. Honestly, I’m not sure who came up with that.” Q smiles slightly, like he is being silly, but it doesn’t reach the corners of his lips. James doesn’t say anything, and simply waits for the other shoe to drop (because that is always the case, when it comes to him). Once Q realizes that he will not be the one to ask, the selkie sighs and looks away (at the sea. James always knows in which direction the sea is because that is where Q will always look to), unable to face the truth as he says quietly, “It might have been easier if it was. At least then there is the possibility of a future, even if it is seven years away. The reality is that… well, once I go back to the sea, I lose this.”

Q gestures down at himself, and it takes James a moment to understand. He frowns, not sure where this is going. Of course he will lose his human shape, but- “But you can come back, right?”

“Yes,” Q immediately responds, but James knows that cannot be the end of it because the selkie still refuses to look at him. “I can shift back to human form. But I won’t come back the same.”

He feels a chill run down his spine. “What do you mean?”

“This… being. This ‘human’ I am now. It’s only temporary. It’s not who I am meant to be. Once I go back to being who I am supposed to be, I’ll forget. The human you call Q won’t exist anymore.” And now Q looks back to James, his eyes dark and even sadder than when he looks at the ocean with such longing that it seems like it hurts for him to breathe. It hurts him just as much now, to admit quietly, “I won’t remember you anymore.”


	10. Chapter 10

The following days pass quietly. Or as quietly as they can when a spy and a legendary creature are searching for a dangerous terrorist.

It turns out that Silva taught the selkie a fair bit about the computer, which combined with Q’s quick learning means that James is not alone in his hunt. Q is a constant voice in his ear, providing him with real-time information that permits him to get the job done far faster than he could have on his own. But as they get closer to Silva, inescapable is the bitter reality that the closer they get, the sooner their parting will be, and James doesn’t think he is the only one who holds on more tightly each subsequent night.

They speak of it only once. The conversation hadn’t gone very well, with James asking why Q just accepted it and Q responding that it was simply the way things were. For once though, James wasn’t willing to accept that, pointing out that they could try to change things, to not be trapped by seemingly arbitrary rules. In retrospect, calling the rules by which selkies existed “arbitrary” had probably been a step too far, and it is no wonder Q refused to speak to him for the rest of the night.

When they returned to the search the next day, they were professional to the point of coolness (or tetchiness, in Q’s case). But any hint of that professionalism dissipated when James returned. Neither apologizes, but they are at an understanding, even if it is an understanding that is burdened by what they both know is in their near future.

After that, they spend their time together avoiding the topic, speaking of anything and everything except what is to come. But the inevitable is never far from their minds, and on those occasions when they explore the city, they invariably find themselves at the sea. In those moments, Q watches the water and James watches Q, and the silence between them is heavy with impending loss.

In a way, James is starting to understand Vesper more, except he knows that neither of them can do what she did. He cannot betray his country for love, and he knows that Q cannot give up the ocean for love either. He knows this because even now, all he has to do is watch as Q stares at the water, unable to breathe from the pain of the separation from where he belongs. So they have no choice but to continue their search, even if they know all too well what it means for them, unable to stop or delay the inevitable because greater forces push them along. And so, far sooner than either of them want, they find themselves on Silva’s doorstep.

Q, of course, had insisted on coming. James had half-heartedly tried to dissuade him, but short of handcuffing him to the bed, he knew it would never work. He wished he had tried harder though, especially when they break into Silva’s hideout and almost immediately find Q’s skin.

Or more precisely, James finds the skin. There is no doubt in his mind what the bundle of furs is, and more importantly what it represents. He doesn’t know why he is drawn to it so intensely, except that he was always a masochist. He always finds himself drawn to those he cannot have, and to the things that will take them away.

Various thoughts rush through his mind as he picks up the skin. The agent in him scans the room, certain that the ease in which he found the skin is evidence of a trap. The lover in him recoils at what the skin represents. The human in him loses himself in the softness of the fur, and the warmth that it possesses. It is a warmth that Q’s human skin never has, except when pressed against his own body.

James can feel Q staring at him, and he looks up. He’s only half-right. Q is staring, but he is staring at the fur held tightly in his hands, and in that moment, James is all too aware that to Q, only one thing in this room matters.

But the moment passes, as they all must, and Q looks up at him. Behind those glasses, which James has so often set aside before pulling the selkie close, Q’s eyes (a light green) are sorry but determined. As are his words: “Give me the skin, James.”

James stares back at him. It would be easy to give in and plead because now that this is really happening, the dread that has been eating away at him for so long has left him open and exposed. “Q….”

“You promised,” Q interrupts, but the words are not a plea. It is a fact. But not quite a correct one because James doesn’t promise, not anymore. He knows better than to make promises, after he has broken so many. But that is all semantics because they both remember that James said he would get Q his skin back, and now the time has come to follow through on his words, however one should characterize them.

He tightens his grip on the fur, unable to let go of the one thing in his life that made him feel a little more… it isn’t about worth. James has always known he is valuable, or at the very least not easily replaceable. But ironically Q, a legend who happens to be in human form, is the one who has made him feel a little more _human_ again.

He doesn’t want to lose that. But more importantly, “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I know,” Q acknowledges, and his voice is gentle and a little sad. The selkie is no longer looking at him, and he wonders if that is because of Q’s continued fixation on the skin or because Q too cannot face what is to come. “But you have to give me the skin, James.”

Q makes no move towards him. He stands, arms slightly outstretched as if in supplication, but otherwise he does nothing but trust that James will do what is right.

James knows he should reciprocate that show of trust by handing the cursed thing over, but still, he cannot. Instead he stands there, frozen as he looks from Q to the skin. He cannot willingly give Q up, and yet he knows that if he does not, he will lose Q regardless. Because the selkie will never trust him again, never be real with him if he does what Silva had already done. Q will always be caged by distrust and anguish, and James would deserve that because he has no _right_. This is Q’s life, this is where Q belongs, this is about what is best for someone other than himself, and he should be _good_ at that. He’s always been so good at giving up everything for Queen and country, so why is it so hard now to give up everything for the one he loves?

He cannot be the one to take Q’s freedom away from him, not again, even if it feels like he’s losing a piece of him that he thought no longer existed. Because Q is not the only thing that is miraculous about this situation; James had honestly thought he could never feel so at peace, so content with his life, not after Vesper and all the people he had lost. He had not thought it possible to want to live for something _other_ than duty.

But some things never change. He looks back up at Q, and Q watches him quietly. Those eyes, shifting between blue and green and autumn gold, deep but never empty because there is so much life in them, and all he can think about is this is what he will be losing.

He nearly doesn’t. It would be so easy not to, to give into the worst part of the humanity that Q has awakened in him. But he would rather lose Q to the sea than to hatred and despair, and so finally he reaches out and offers Q that which already belongs to him.


	11. Chapter 11

Q reaches forward, but to James’s surprise he doesn’t take the skin. Instead, he tangles his hands with James’s, and James can feel the pale skin warm, although whether it is because of the skin or his own body heat, he really couldn’t say. But it hardly seems to matter as Q leans in so close that their faces practically touch.

“I know,” Q whispers again, his voice calm and kind and _there_. He smiles, and unlike every smile that he has given James since they have known each other, this one is not tinged with sadness. There is longing, yes, but it is not for the ocean. It is not for the thing that will separate them, but is instead a longing for what they already have. “But I have to be the one to decide. It has to be _my_ choice.”

“And what are you choosing?” he asks, careful to keep himself from hoping. James knows that this… that _they_ are not enough for Q, that _he_ is not enough for the selkie. He is never enough, and really, what is he when compared to the ocean and all of its promises? And yet he cannot help but hope because this is Q, and Q is right there, and somehow nothing else in the world seems to matter, including his many inadequacies.

Q sighs, exasperated but fond, and his smile matches those sentiments. “I would think it obvious.” _Idiot_ goes unsaid but is clearly implied, and it only makes James respond with a wry smile of his own, even if he’s still struggling to _understand_.

“What changed your mind?” he asks, still not quite daring to believe. It seems too good to be true, and James tends to have adverse reactions to things that seem too good because more often than not, they are. But it’s hard not to give in to sentiment when Q reaches a hand to his face, pulling him even closer so that their foreheads rest against each other. Q’s skin is no longer icy cold but as warm as the furs entwined with their fingers, and hell, it’s so hard to breathe right now. So hard to think of anything but what is in front of him.

( _So this is what drowning feels like._ )

“You did,” Q replies, his eyes closed. He huffs a small laugh as he continues, “And believe me, I am well-aware of the irony. You’re broken and don’t know how to trust and goodness knows you have no _manners_ and there isn’t a problem you’ve found that you haven’t tried hitting repeatedly-”

“Please, just list all of my good qualities,” he mutters, but without any heat.

“You’re human,” Q says without missing a beat. “You’re so human, so… everything that I cannot stand. And yet I find myself unable to leave you because you’re so _real_. You don’t hide what you are; you’re honest about all of your flaws. And there are so many of them. But that just makes you so much more real than anything else in this world.”

“And that is enough for you?” James asks, bewildered. Q has a habit of defying expectations, but this is borderline absurd. If he is all the world has to offer Q, he has no idea why he would be enough. Not when Q is giving up so much, for apparently so _little_. “Q, you don’t belong here, you said it yourself. You would be better off in the ocean, and… look, I’ve _seen_ you. I see you every time we’re there, staring at the water, and all I can see is….”

Pain. Longing. Desire for something that no human could ever give. And that is why he must ask, instead of closing his mouth and letting something _good_ happen to him for the first time in god knows how long. That is why he did not give into his temptation to keep Q here through force, to take away the skin and leave the creature stranded with nowhere else to go. Because Q deserves so much more than this, than _him_ , and he cannot understand why Q doesn’t see this as well.

Right now, all he can see is that pain in Q’s eyes. They’re a deep blue now, but he only sees it for a second before Q closes his eyes again.

“I know,” Q says, the words far more strained than before. James can tell that he is not the only one the selkie is trying to convince now. “I _know_. And that longing will always be a part of me. I know that, but I accept it. I will never forget that feeling that there is something missing, but if I go back, then this….”

“You’ll forget,” James finishes quietly. James may always remember him, but Q will not be so burdened. “You’ll forget this. You won’t have to live with it.”

“I _want_ to live with it, _idiot_.” Q cannot hold the insult back this time as he pulls away just enough so that he can glare at James. There’s some anger now, but isn’t anger just another form of passion? “I don’t want to forget this because I don’t want to forget you. Remember, you gave me a choice. You gave me _this_ choice. You let me decide how to live my life, and so I will live with my choice and the consequences of it.”

His mouth is dry, his mind racing a thousand miles a minute, but he cannot think of anything to say. He should, he knows he should, because it would be for Q’s benefit to convince the selkie that the choice being made is _wrong_. But instead, it is he who now reaches for Q, and for what he cannot believe is being offered freely.

Even if he cannot believe, he cannot resist, and wordlessly he brushes aside dark curls. He’s still trying to think of what to say, but then it doesn’t matter as the words die on his lips.

Because.

Because there is a reason why James grows tense whenever things finally seem to go his way. Because there is a reason why James never dares to let himself be happy. Because James knows what this world is like, and knows all too well what it will do to destroy anything that is worth living for.

Because.

“You two talk too much.”

A shot rings out to accompany the unfamiliar voice, and James can only watch in horror as Q pitches forward violently from the momentum of the bullet to his back.


	12. Chapter 12

There’s a part of him, the part of him that takes a certain thrill in every life he ends, that even now is able to admire the skill of the shooter. Given their proximity, it would have been so easy to catch the both of them in a single shot, but that bullet was meant only for Q. There is blood on him, of course, but none of it is his. There is so much blood, and it is all Q’s.

And then there is the rest of him, that can only see dark hair and pale skin that he swears is losing what little color is left, and Q might not be drowning but James is just as useless as ever because _god_ ….

The fur falls from his fingers as he launches himself forward, grabbing Q before he can fall and lowering him gently to the ground. He can hear Silva approaching from behind but all he sees is Q, those shifting eyes wild and _alive_ with the pain of dying.

“Oh dear,” Silva says, his voice lacking any emotion. It’s clinical and detached, like he is watching a mere animal bleed out, but maybe Q is to Silva what humans are to Q. Something different, something with a little bit of amusement value, but nothing to mourn in the end. “I think he might be dying. That’s not good.”

James doesn’t reply. He can barely hear Silva over Q’s soft gasps, which seem to overwhelm any other sounds out there.

But Silva is not one to be ignored, as James knows all too well from the man’s audacious attacks on MI6. The man is a mystery, with reasons that are incomprehensible to everyone but himself, and this is no different as Silva watches Q die. Except dying isn’t what this is about, or at least not Q’s dying.

“You know what you have to do, James,” Silva practically croons as James tries to stop the bleeding, but there’s only so much hands can do as the red flows freely through his fingers. People always liked to comment on how much blood he has on his hands, but he’s never had _this_ much. “Give him back to the sea. That will save him.”

There are a number of glaring problems with that statement, starting with the fact that he has no reason to believe Silva and even if he did, they both know that will kill him. It might save the selkie but it will _kill_ Q and he has no doubt that Silva knows it. And more importantly, Q is aware of that as well. Q had made his choice, but that choice won’t matter in the slightest if he uses that skin.

But then, that choice won’t matter if he doesn’t use the skin. So really, it is becoming clear that there are no choices right now. Whatever he does, he will lose Q; the only question is if the selkie is lost as well.

He knows the answer to that question, of course. What he doesn’t know is what will await the selkie if he uses that skin because he also knows all too well that there are worse things than death.

“What will you do once he changes back?” he asks, his voice tight and empty. He has to make sure not to look down at Q, who is trying so desperately to gasp out _‘No_ ’ but it’s easy enough to ignore. Less easy to ignore is Silva, whose smile is bright with utter insanity.

“Well, I’ll kill you, of course,” Silva says, matter-of-fact. “Once you have suffered enough from losing another one of your doomed lovers, of course.”

He has no idea what he has done to make the man so obsessed with him, if this is even about him. He isn’t entirely sure it is, not when he’s never even heard of the man until he was sent on this mission. There were rumors of a connection to M, but whatever Silva is up to, it seems to have gone far beyond one man’s feud with a single person, remarkable as M is. No, it might have started out that way, but it’s spiraled well out of anyone’s control now. This is the madness he is familiar with, the one that wants nothing more than to destroy, and that want is especially imperative when it comes to something that is lovely. All of this just underscores the horror that likely awaited Q if he hadn’t got there first, but that horror might still be in the selkie’s future if he goes through with this.

“And Q?” Because that is who really matters here. That is the only one who matters now.

“Q?” Silva laughs, darkly amused. “Is that what you call him now?”

Q makes a soft whimpering sound as his hands continue to scrabble uselessly at James. The unspoken plea is obvious, but again, he ignores it as he asks, “What will you do with him?”

Silva makes a show of pondering his question. “Perhaps I’ll keep him as a pet. Perhaps when he deigns to take off that silly fur again, I’ll take him under my wing. It will be a bit of a pain, having to start over like that, but now that I know he learns so quickly I might not mind.” The smile Silva gives him is cruel, and allows him a quiet moment (punctuated only by Q’s pained breaths) to indulge in all of the implications of that statement. “Or do you have another suggestion, Mr. Bond?”

He looks up sharply, not sure of what game Silva is playing now. Everyone knows that any assurances he extracts from the man won’t be worth the paper it’s not even written on, and yet he finds himself holding Q closer and saying bluntly, “Take him back. To the sea. Let him go, unharmed. Promise never to harm or touch him again.”

Silva raises an eyebrow. “Are you really in any position to be negotiating, Mr. Bond? If you don’t act, he dies. Legendary creature he might be, but even he won’t be able to survive blood loss.”

“I know that,” he replies, and leaves it at that. He doesn’t try to negotiate or appeal to Silva’s better nature because he knows there is no better nature to appeal to, so he will be blunt.

Besides, if he knows anything about Silva, it is that the man will like the idea of groveling. And James will grovel, if that is what is needed, because between Q and himself, he knows which one matters more to him. And while M and Queen and country might disagree, he thinks that this is the one time he may finally think of himself and what is important to protect. This time, he will allow himself to be selfish, and not consider the needs of the many over the need of one. He will be that stubborn, impractical human that Q sees him as.

That is what he has to offer, to lay himself bare to his enemy. And as it turns out, he is right. Silva likes that vulnerability very much, if the quickness of his response is anything to go by.

“Fine,” Silva says with a shrug. It costs him nothing to promise because Q is nothing to him, except as a means to an end.

“ _No_ ,” Q immediately protests, his voice harsh but so terribly weak.

“I’m sorry,” James says quietly, pressing his lips against Q’s cheek. It’s wet with tears, and he isn’t sure who he hates more right now for what he is about to do. Silva might have been the cause but he is the one who is making this decision, against Q’s obvious wishes. He hasn’t forgotten what Q said about being the one to decide, about the _importance_ of that right to choose. But it doesn’t matter. Just as he was not willing to lose Q to hatred and resentment, he will not lose Q to death if he does not have to.

“You should hurry,” Silva offers, the words almost kind. He hates it, but the man is right. And so he takes one hand off the wound to pick up the skin, wincing as blood streaks across soft fur.

He can’t worry about that though, as he quickly realizes that he has no idea what he is doing or whether this will even work. Wikipedia certainly never covered this situation, nor did his childhood stories. But as he drapes the skin over Q’s body, whispering his apologies, he knows that this is the right thing to do (only in the broadest sense of the word because this, what he is doing, what he is _losing_ , this is so very wrong).

There are none of the things James vaguely recalls from the fairytales: no flash of light, no sparkly dust, no sudden darkness. Q is there, and then he simply is not, and in the place of the man he loved so desperately is a soft seal with large brown eyes, staring up at him with a complete lack of recognition.


	13. Chapter 13

In all of their time together, James had never really considered what Q would be like. He had spent so much time obsessing over losing Q, but he had never once spared a thought as to what the selkie would look like when not human.

He doesn’t have to wonder anymore.

He had expected spots, like the seals that the ships would pass by. Even after he had found the skin, flawless in its expanse, he had never really considered that Q would be anything else. But James should have known better because this is Q and he will never cease to be surprised by the selkie, even in his lowest moments. And so he finds himself staring at a seal whose fur is not dark brown or patchy gray but a smooth silver, which shimmers under the dim, artificial light.

“Q,” he says quietly. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but the seal looking up at him without an ounce of familiarity still makes him feel like his guts are twisting. He should be grateful, that the selkie is alive because he hadn’t actually _known_ this would work, and the word of a madman isn’t something he would normally put much stock in. But all he can do is stare at what used to be Q. Q, with his pale skin and dark hair and lanky limbs that were only graceful in the water, although he was getting much better at not tripping over his own feet. Q, with his sharp intelligence and bright eyes and clever words, guiding him through dark alleys both physical and mental. Q, who he has condemned with his own two hands, and he really should be used to this by now, shouldn’t he.

It’s less a question, and more an apt description of his life.

There is no time for pity though, his head turning towards Silva who has come closer. Much too close for his own comfort, although the selkie doesn’t seem to care as he looks around the room, curious but not terribly interested.

If only the same could be said about Silva, who reaches a hand out as he murmurs, “I have never seen him in this form before.”

His voice is almost reverent, but there is a dark possessiveness that James does not like, prompting him to say sharply, “Remember your promise.”

“Please, I’m not MI6, am I?” Silva replies dismissively, but he doesn’t stop. The selkie is now watching him carefully, calm and entirely unimpressed by the danger approaching. “Although seeing him like this, it is admittedly difficult.”

James growls, but for some reason doesn’t move to stop Silva from getting any closer The dark part of him wants to rip the bastard’s arm clean off, but he’s frozen. It might be shock but this isn’t the first time he’s lost someone (although it may very well be the last), and yet he does nothing but watch as Silva’s hand finally touches the selkie’s fur.

The selkie, on the other hand, snarls and whips his head around to sink sharp teeth into the man’s flesh.

Silva yells, and James immediately springs into action. He might have struck a deal but he _is_ MI6, and he sees no reason to keep his word when it comes to someone like Silva.

Unlike an ordinary battle, in which he hides behind his animal instinct to survive, this battle is cold and calculated in a way that only humans could manage. Every move he makes is not informed by reflex or intuition, but designed to maximize the pain of those around him. This is not to say that he is inefficient in his actions… far from it. One of Silva’s men falls to the ground in agony and he has already grabbed the man’s gun before it can even drop to the ground, turning it on its former compatriots.

He shouldn’t have survived this battle. As good as he is, Silva’s men have superior numbers and weapons (although he is quickly evening the odds on both), and throughout it all he has to keep in mind that there is someone he has to protect. But it is precisely at times like these that he truly embodies that double-o agent designation, wielding that license to kill with brutal competence and not an ounce of mercy. Except this time, it’s not just about Queen and country. This time, there is a personal vendetta, but instead of making him reckless, Silva has made him far more dangerous than he has ever been before.

There is no logic to it, except how best to kill someone without compromising his own and the selkie’s safety. But somehow he finds himself standing amidst the dead, staring coldly at Silva who the selkie has yet to relinquish his bite on. Silva is aiming a gun down at the creature, but James throws him off, likely taking a good amount of flesh from his hand as the selkie only just lets go in time to avoid losing teeth.

“Remember your promise,” he coldly reminds the man one last time before he shoots the bastard in the head.

* * *

It takes a while for him to come down from the adrenaline rush that accompanies the sheer amount of death he specializes in. His breathing is still harsh as he takes in the carnage around him, all of which he single-handedly caused. He notices almost distantly that the selkie is looking at the bodies as well, still so calm and dispassionate about the death around them. He isn’t surprised this time; James remembers Q’s calmness at the hotel after shooting the man, and supposes that in this form especially the selkie cares nothing for humans, even the one who is still alive.

Especially the one who is still alive.

“… Q,” he starts, but he quickly chokes on the name as it is for a person who no longer exists. Who was never _meant_ to exist. The selkie finally deigns to look up at him, although he still looks decidedly unimpressed. It’s almost like Q, _his_ Q, but there’s no fondness or amusement at his appalling humanity. No recognition.

Because this isn’t Q, not anymore. Q is gone, just as Vesper is, and there is nothing he can do about it. But even though it is no longer Q, he still owes the selkie his word, and he gets down on his knees and holds out a hand to the creature. The selkie sniffs it with barely concealed disdain but doesn’t bite him, and after a moment’s hesitation he reaches out a hand to stroke the silver fur. The selkie’s reaction is the same as Q’s when he stroked those dark curls, large eyes closing in contentment as a sound that must be a seal’s equivalent of a purr makes him laugh sadly.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, even though Q is no longer there to hear his apologies. There is only one thing he can do now. “I’ll take you back to the sea now. I’ll take you back to where you belong.”

If his voice cracks at the end, he doesn’t let it stop him. He’s used to moving on after he’s lost people, after all.


	14. Chapter 14

James finds himself at the ocean.

He had sworn he would not come back here, but he hadn’t been able to resist for very long. He doesn’t know why he returns or what he expects to find here – nothing, really – and he should know better by now than to hope for anything else. And yet here he is. Again.

This is the selkie’s ocean, the one he came from. From piecing together what Q had told him and Silva’s records – and the bastard had certainly kept meticulous records, although none of it had come close to explaining what had driven him to such madness – James had determined that this was the most likely place the selkie had come from. So this was where he had taken the selkie, finally fulfilling the bargain they had struck when they had first met (a lifetime ago, it sometimes seems) by returning the selkie to the sea.

The selkie, mind. Not Q. Q died in his arms, just like Vesper did. He was so close and could do nothing, but at least he was able to do one thing right.

It is surprisingly easy to keep the selkie and Q separate. He had barely blinked as the selkie had slipped into the ocean without even a backwards glance at him, and hadn’t bothered to stay and watch the creature swim out of sight. He had already lost Q, after all, and so it was easy to turn and walk away, telling himself that it was time to move on.

But this time, he hadn’t been able to move on. Not truly. And that is why he is here. _Again._

Slowly, as if every movement carries the weight of his life (and all of the death he has single-handedly been responsible for), he sits himself down on the sand. It’s ruining his suit but he doesn’t care, watching as the water comes closer and closer with each passing wave. The tide is coming in and he knows that if he does not move, the water will soon envelop him. But then that happened so long ago that it barely seems to matter anymore.

A shadow falls over him, and he sighs. He hadn’t sensed the interloper’s approach, but he hasn’t been trying very hard as of late. On missions, he is of course still the consummate professional, impeccable in his work to the point that M had been forced to put him on leave. What she was trying to accomplish there, he doesn’t know, as it is worst when he is alone, with no one to save and no loyalties to carry out.

But when he is not on his missions, he wants nothing more than to be alone. And so he starts to stand, having no interest in speaking to the newcomer and more than ready to escape back into his self-imposed solitary confinement, when a familiar voice makes his heart stop.

“Always makes me feel a little melancholy. A single man, against the might of the sea. How does one even compare?”

James looks up, and Q stares back down at him, lips curled into that curious half-smile that still haunts his dreams. Except it’s not Q, not anymore. Despite that half-smile and slightly teasing look, there’s none of that warmth in his eyes, which still shift between blue and green and gold. This person might have the same form, but it is not Q, and that hurts more than he could have thought possible.

This was such a terrible idea. Because seeing Q this way is even more painful than finding nothing here at all. It is a cruel reminder of what he has lost, in a form that almost seems to make a mockery of his pain.

But if this creature notices his pain, he takes no notice of it, sitting down next to him on the sand. James stares at the long, pale limbs – all of which he remembers with intimate detail, none of which is covered by a stitch of clothing – and struggles to remember how to breathe.

“You look sad,” the selkie finally seems to notice once he has settled himself into a comfortable position. “Is there anything I can do?”

James finds it odd that the selkie would ask, given Q’s general lack of concern for humans even when he was trapped in human form. It’s just another reminder that this isn’t Q, which makes it all the easier to turn his gaze back to the ocean and say, “No, thank you. Best for you to move on, I think.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see the selkie tilt his head slightly, pouting almost. The familiarity makes his heart clench. “Are you certain?” the creature asks, clearly skeptical.

“Yes.” He cannot do this. He simply _cannot do this_. He wants desperately to reach out for the selkie, to pretend that it is Q and start over again, but he cannot go through this again. Vesper was enough of a lesson, but by the time he realized that he was allowing history to repeat itself when it came to Q, it had been too late.

It is not too late this time though, and so he quickly moves to stand, saying, “Excuse me.”

“You didn’t used to be this cruel,” the selkie complains, and his eyes are as blue as the ocean. “James.”

He stops. He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens again, probably resembling a goldfish if the selkie’s amused expression is anything to go by, before he finally dares to ask, “Q?”

“So you do remember me,” Q replies, without a hint of irony.

“… how?” he finally manages to ask as he falls back to the sand in an awkward half-kneeling position. He makes no move towards the selkie though; he is still too afraid to touch Q because this could still be a very elaborate delusion, and if it is he thinks he will drown himself in despair. “How are you here?”

“I told you,” Q says quietly. “It had to be my choice.”

Breathe in, breathe out. He refuses to let himself blink in case taking his eyes off of Q for even a split second will make him disappear, and in any case he doesn’t want to do anything but take in the sight. “But I took that choice away from you. I did what you didn’t want me to do, I-”

“No, don’t do that to yourself,” Q interrupts, his voice gentle. “I made my choice. I was willing to give it all up, to be with you, And as for you, I understand why you did what you did. But don’t you see? You gave me back to the sea, James. No one has ever done that before, until you. No one has ever been _willing_ to do that before.”

James just continues to stare, still in a daze at what is happening, and Q smiles a little wistfully. “It seems like we both did what we weren’t supposed to do, and I… I suppose that meant something. But it still took me a while to come back to myself, to come back here. I’m just sorry it took me so long to return to you.”

And before James can even think of a proper response, Q is pushing him back so that he is sitting on the sand, with Q straddling him. Cold hands reach out to grasp James’s face and pull him so close that their noses practically touch, and for a moment they are still, basking in the presence of the other.

“Besides,” Q whispers, and James does not so much see as feel the small smile playing on his lips, “if there’s anything I’ve learned from you humans, it’s that the rules were made to be broken.”

“And that includes legends?” James asks, his eyes closing as he breathes in Q’s scent and touch and _being_. The tide is coming in and the water is soaking through his clothes, but he doesn’t care because it is _Q_.

“That includes legends,” Q confirms, before his words drown into a happy laugh as James wraps his arms around him and just holds on, knowing he will never let go again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of love to everyone who read this fic, whether on Tumblr or AO3. I really enjoyed playing with this story, so I hope you all enjoyed reading it. :)


	15. Epilogue

Most people expected James Bond to die in a blaze of glory, with buildings exploding around him and the screeching of car tires and gunshot rounds all around. The reality, as always, is far different from mere expectation. James Bond dies in a dark alleyway, doing what he always does – protecting people. There is only one this time, and she stays with him as he bleeds out, grateful that he rescued her from common thugs but unable to do much more than that.

Q does not go to the funeral. It would have been unseemly because he would have spent the entire time asking why the human had to be so damn _selfish_ , to leave him here like this. He goes to work instead, takes down a couple minor drug cartels, and when that distraction is gone he lets the silence overwhelm him in the empty office.

It is never truly silent though; it never can be. The ocean whispers to him, telling him that she forgives him, that he can still come home, that he will be welcome if he returns. She is always there, in the back of his mind, but he made his choice and Q has always been the most stubborn of her children. She knows that well, but she is stubborn too, and in the empty office where he sits alone while others honor a human now lost forever, she whispers to him.

Her words were always hard to ignore, even when James was still there to remind him why he chose the land over the sea. It is near impossible now, when his reason for choosing is gone. But even if that reason is gone, there are other reasons to say. He came here for James, but he does not stay only for the human. Over time, he has made his own friends as he entered the ranks of MI6 and worked his way up, making himself invaluable to Queen and country. He cares little for either, really, but there are the individuals. Eve Moneypenny and Bill Tanner, Gareth Mallory and Olivia Mansfield – these are but a few of the people who have touched his newfound life.

But none of them compare to James Bond, with all of his flaws and scars and traumas. None of them are a reason to give up the ocean, to endure her whispers and entreaties, to live with that feeling that he is never quite in the right skin. For James, he will bear those things; without him, it is a struggle. He is not right here, he never was, but Q has never been about doing the right thing and so he stays, stubborn to the end.

He holds out for four more years. He works, surrounded by people he has come to care for. But then he goes home, surrounded by the things that he and James have accumulated over their years together, by photographs and memories and the remnants of a deep love that he will always carry with him, deeper than the scars buried in James’s skin. It’s harder then because the memories are not as loud as her whispers, the promise that he will be welcome should he return to where he belongs, if he would just go home. Not the empty flat, which he once shared with the human he would ( _did_ ) give up everything for, but _home_.

He decides abruptly. He leaves messages for Eve, Bill, and Gareth (Olivia retired years ago, although she will outlive them all, he sometimes thinks), thanking them and saying his good-byes. He leaves them the information for his bank accounts, the keys to his flat, and instructions on how to dispose of everything. Then he closes the door, walks to the station, and takes the train to the place where this all started.

The skin is exactly where he left it, protected by his brothers and sisters. This close to the ocean, he nearly cries with relief when he touches it, the desperate need to return to her so overwhelming that he can barely stand it. He slips into the skin under the light of the moon, then slides into the water with an ease that he had almost forgotten, and lets Q and James Bond go as he welcomes the ocean back into his heart.

Except. Except he can’t completely.

He is home. He is right. He is whole again. The ocean is his world, his everything, except that is not all that is there. As he travels the world in her protective hold, as he accepts who and what he is, there is something _else_ : the memory of deep blue eyes and warm hands around him, keeping him close and promising never to let go. It is something more than what he once was, and it rips a hole through his heart because in his own, selfish way, he had expected to forget this, had _wanted_ to forget the human he gave up everything for. It’s part of the reason why he came back, to _forget_ , to no longer have to sit in a room that he once shared with another and remember what they once had.

He knows then that he will never forget.

It seems that she was not being quite truthful when she said that she forgives him.

* * *

Years pass. He drifts through life, at home and at ease, but never truly content because he can never truly forget. He lets the ocean embrace him in her cold grasp, but he cannot forget another’s far warmer embrace. He lets her carry him with his brothers and sisters, but he cannot forget the way the human used to carry him to bed, to be swallowed in deep adoration. He lets the ocean love him as one of her own, but he will never forget that someone else used to love him this much as well.

She is not cruel, although she is capricious at times. It’s hard to resent her, when he knows she loves him unconditionally. So one day, when she tells him to go to the shore, he listens.

He doesn’t shed his skin, letting himself rest on the sand. The sun is warm and the sound of waves is comforting, and it is easy to relax. He’s nearly dozed off when he hears a sound, and he tenses, ready to flee back to her hold. But something tells him to wait, something tells him to stay, and that is why he is still there when the human appears.

The human is young, a child with hair more gold than the sand beneath him, and eyes that are such a deep blue that he nearly forgets how to breathe.

He freezes. The child stares at him, with those blue eyes that are so achingly familiar, and abruptly he understands. She is not cruel, never cruel, and she cares for her children. She cares for him, despite his rebellion, and even if she cannot let him go completely, she will give him this.

The child is called away, but casts a lingering look over his shoulder before he scampers to obey. He in turn slips back into the water, letting her surround him as she explains.

He will have to wait, of course. He will have to wait, and there is no guarantee. But if he is willing to be patient, to take that risk, then she will give him that opportunity.

Of course, there is no debate, no hesitation on his part. He closes his eyes in quiet agreement, and allows her to soothe and carry him away for the time being.

* * *

Years later, when the day comes, the day she promised, he slips back to the same sandy shore. He sheds the skin and puts it away, extracting promises from his brothers and sisters that they will watch over it even if they cannot comprehend what he is doing. And he leaves not with her blessing but with her understanding, although he is barely out of sight of the water when the whispers begin again, the whispers telling him that he needs to come home.

He does indeed, but he knows now that home can mean so many different things.

It is easier this time, to fall back into himself. The last time he had taken human form, it had taken him so long to remember all of the intricacies of integrating himself with these illogical creatures. It does not help that things have changed significantly in the time he has gone, landmarks shifting and technologies changing. It doesn’t matter. He manages to procure clothing and transportation, and follows the siren’s call with single-minded determination to where he knows his human awaits.

When he finds him, in a tiny café in a quiet corner of London, he doesn’t know what to do. He stands there, almost frozen, staring at a young man who doesn’t look quite the same except for his eyes, more blue than the ocean he has once again left behind. Almost immediately those eyes look up to stare at him with curiosity, brow furrowing slightly in confusion and incomprehension.

He holds his breath, not able to move. He does nothing as the human stands, that perplexed expression still marring his face. _There is no guarantee_ , she had told him, and now he understands all too well what she meant by that. There is no guarantee that this will work, that the human will remember, that they can ever have what they once shared. Everything changes, and there are no promises in this world. He has no right, to force this human to love him again, even if he will give up everything for just that. He has no right to make this human _his_.

He flinches, ever so slightly, when the human stands and walks towards him. But he doesn’t move when fingers, not nearly as calloused as the ones he remembers, reach out to touch his cheek, uncertain of who he is.

He readies himself, to make his apologies, to flee back to the ocean, to go back to where he belongs even if it means never feeling right again, but then James says quietly, “ _Q_ ,” and he knows he will be going nowhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had always meant to write an epilogue from Q’s perspective, but had problems finding the time to do so. It also didn’t help that I also knew I wanted to time it after James had passed (probably about nine or so years after Q came back), in which Q returns to the ocean but still retains his memories of being human. It was sort of a depressing place to leave off though, so it took me a while to figure out how to nudge it back to a happy ending. And hopefully this is happy, without being too easy (because those two never make it easy). :)


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